


Tell me (when it's time)

by VictoriaWoodmaine



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Green Day - Freeform, M/M, When it's time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-07-13
Packaged: 2017-12-15 21:58:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/854466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VictoriaWoodmaine/pseuds/VictoriaWoodmaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock is at a loss for words to tell John how he feels, he consults some modern day 'poetry' in form of song lyrics (because obviously Shakespeare is far too cheesy for lovers nowadays).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I ever wrote.  
> So excuse my (maybe) humble writing style.  
> I am NOT a native english speaker, but- despite knowing I am damn good at it (best final exam of the year-lol) I am happy to receive feedback to improve! So fire ahead!
> 
> Also I plan to write a porny second chapter- so stay tuned!
> 
>  
> 
> I do not give permission to repost, reproduce or archive this fanfic in part or in it's entirety to any other website except with prior written consent provided by myself, nor any profit be made from any of these works under any circumstances whatsoever.

** Tell me **

 

I knew I had messed up, when John had poured out his heart to me and I had just stood there gaping like a fish, without a clue as how to reply.

I remember being stunned and overwhelmed and flattered by his confession. My heart beat like that of a colibri and apparently my brain had abandoned me. He had looked at me expectantly although I don't understand how he actually thought I would be familiar with the concept of the whole thing. So I had said nothing. Because nothing was what my brain provided me with. And I definately didn't want to say just anything. I wanted to make it right. To give John the perfect reply. I owed him that.

So I said nothing and just simply embraced him. Hugged him close to my chest in an attempt to maybe make him *feel* what he had done to me by saying those precious three words. Then I let go. And went to my bedroom.

 

ªVªWª

 

One of the things that I love about John the most, is that he isn't as insultingly predictable as everyone else. He always manages to surprise me even in the most ordinary everyday situations. He's never boring- and I loathe to be bored.

So apparently I AM the idiot here, because I honestly expected him to be mad at me or dissapointed by my lack of response and reciprocation. But he wasn't. Ever the steady soldier he busied himself with making tea while I had a minor mental breakdown in my room trying to understand what had just happened and why I couldn't even manage to return those three words at least. I have _always_ been good with words, but I realized that everything I could have said at that moment would have been just plainly lame compared to John's surprising confession. So I had to think of something special. I wanted to overwhelm him just as he had overwhelmed me. But first of all I needed to touch him. Because if I learned one thing about myself so far- my brain works best provided with input like touch, smell and vision. Maybe I would find inspiration in the kitchen...

 

John looked only a tiny bit gutted sitting at the kitchen table and if it weren't for the fact that I am probably the most observant human in the entire Common wealth I could have easily missed that look in his eyes. John was very good at hiding his real state of emotion. Although he was capable of sometimes just bursting out in anger or fuming with frustration (which was delightful to witness if it wasn't directed against me) he mostly was a calm, reassuring presence who guided me through the unfamiliar terrain of human compassion.

 

But now I was on my own. I approached the table- recognised another cheesy love song from Adele playing on the radio John had probably turned on to distract himself- and just stood there for a moment, awkwardly. Then I put my hand on his shoulder. Just that. A reassuring gesture I had observed people do at various occasions. He looked up at me, surprised (and somehow relieved?). I smiled and tightened my hand a little around the rounding of his shoulder. The tightness around his eyes vanished (as did the cold knot of panic inside my gut). That would have to do for the moment. I now knew what I had to do.

I left.

Again.

 

Poetry is a curious thing. Of course I read quite a bit of the classical works of fiction, as I did read books about ancient Egypt, bee keeping or medieval construction techniques as a youth (just to name a few). I understand why and how it triggers emotions in my fellow humans, and despite the public opinion I am very well capable of feeling just as any other person does- I just don't understand why one would bother with that constant rollercoaster and chemokine-rush affecting your brain. Until now. I have had my share of emotion during my adolescence and I never really understood why one would torture themselves by reading heartbreaking, depressing fiction 'for fun' on top of it all. Maybe one day I will ask Molly.

For now I walked over to my bookshelf and looked at the spines of my literary collection. Shakespeare- far too old fashioned and heavy to digest. Keats- better, but not really to my taste. Poe- well, I might get back to that for the next funeral Mycroft and I have to attend. No- I have to consult other sources. I flung myself on the bed and booted John's laptop (obviously). Although Adele is not really 'up my street' as John would call it, she still managed to inspire me.

The poetry of modern man.

Songs.

Men and women telling stories about life situations everyone seems to have experienced and is able to relate to. And apparently people enjoy reliving all the joyful as well as painful memories again and again by listening to those tales. They attach to a song and embed the lyrics in their hearts. When they are heartbroken, they listen to songs of other heartbroken people and it makes them feel better. When they are in love, they listen to songs sung by other people who apparently are in love as well. And it makes them happy. So those were exactly the songs I intended to look for.

 

After a brief look at John's iTunes music library I was convinced I understood what he liked better. I crosschecked  his favourites with the latest download charts. It seems his musical taste was not really up to date. I couldn't find any Johnny Cash album in the Top100 except one song called 'Hurt'- and that really didn't fit the occasion. At least not yet. So I continued. When I finally stumbled upon a former american boy (now grown men)-band called 'Green Day' I was at the end of my search. If the 'community' was to be trusted the lead singer had written a 'beautiful and awesome as f***' love song for one of his bandmates' wedding. After a couple of re-reads of the lyrics I was satisfied with my choice. This would do. This was perfect.

 

ªVªWª

 

'John!' I yelled throwing my door open and stalking out.

'What's wrong, Sherlock?' He leaned back in his chair so that he could have a better look down the hallway towards my bedroom.

'John...' My voice was soft now. I didn't want him to think there was something wrong. I intended the absolute opposite, didn't I?

'John, I...'

He looked at me expectantly and curious.

'I'm sorry...for...before. I...I...'

'Sherlock...' he said and got up from his chair. It took him two steps to place himself in front of me. That didn't really help. That he looked at me with big, blue, innocent eyes telling me it was alright, and that he understood my awkwardness and that it was all fine didn't help either.

'You need to understand...'

'I do-'

'No. I don't think so. I...please. Let me...explain. I looked up some poetry. Well, a song that should help make you understand how...' I trailed off. John just waited. He knew me so well. God, my heart throbbed even harder. I took a deep breath and started to recite the song:

 

'Words get trapped in my mind,

I'm sorry if I don't take the time to feel the way I do.

But since the first day you came into my life

my time ticks around you.

 

But then I need your voice

as a key to unlock all the love that's trapped in me.

So tell me when it's time to say I love you.

 

All I want is you to understand

that when I take your hand

it's because I want to.

We are all born in a world of doubt,

but there's no doubt

I figured out

I LOVE YOU.

 

I feel lonely for

all the losers that will never take the time to say

what is really on their minds,

instead they just hide away.

Yet they'll never have

someone like you to guide them and help along the way,

or tell them when it's time to say I love you.

 

So tell me when it's time to say I love you.'

 

I finished by taking his left hand into mine.

 

'Sherlock...' John looked at me, his mouth hanging open.

'No need for words, John.'

'Sherlock...' He started again, then trailed off.

'Help me, John.' I finally whispered, bringing my face close to his. Our breaths mingled between our faces, our foreheads touched.

Yet, it was not enough. It was never enough.

John closed his eyes, lost in the moment. So I mirrored him and closed mine, too. I will never be able to get over the sensation of feeling John Watson on my skin. Never bothered to care for human touch, though I knew it was enjoyable. But John...John was different. In so many ways. He was better. He made me better.

 

He shifted. Inching closer. His arms wrapped around my waist and again I mirrored his movement and pulled him close. Pressed him against my chest. Heart pounding and all. I sucked in a breath at the sensation of his entire body- his warmth and smell- so close to me, I never wanted to let go again.

 

So I tilted my head a little closer to his face. Our lips almost touching. Oh, the delicious, sweet little torture of  'almosts'!

 

'Sherlock...' John said my name once more.

I didn't respond. Waited. Took another breath.

 

'Now...'

 

 


	2. Time is a curious thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Everything that happened after this moment would be stored in my mind palace for the small eternity that was left of my lifetime.'
> 
> Sherlock's perception of time changes when he feels John's lips on his own.  
> He remembers the last time it felt that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I initially wanted to include some bedroom-time in here, but I got lost in the moment, sort of.  
> Sorry, Atlin. I promise I will be a good girl and come to that part soon!
> 
> Also I have never wrote porn before, so maybe I'm just trying to give myself some more time.  
> And if the beginning is somehow a bit depressing...well, that's just how I roll. Always in for the drama.
> 
> Oh god. I really AM like Sherlock Holmes it seems.  
> 'John, please help me with this messy subject that is human reproduction!'

...Now.

Time is a curious thing.

How ones perception of it changes depending on the state one finds itself in.  
It has been a long time since I last experienced time to pass at such a slow pace. I remember it as the day I found my father sitting at his desk in his office. Dead. With a gun wound to his head.  
It was then that I last felt time to be something so relative. So unimportant. Almost reachable by hand as if you could just lift your arm and drag your fingers through it like water in a fountain. Something that is there, can be observed, but not kept.

I wish I could have kept _this_ moment. Fill it into a flask. Store it away on the shelves of my laboratory to keep until the day I pass. As a reassuring presence for all those times that I lose my faith. And that has happened quite some times. When I saw my father for the last time. Saw my mother cry, the heartbreak in her features. How lost she looked upon that day. When I realized that I would never fit into the society that is considered normal. When I gave up on the thought of another human being apart from my brother to actually bother asking me how I was.  
What I thought.  
What I felt.  
I wasn't born the cold, heartless and impolite bastard that I know I appear to be. But time has had its effect on me.  
I used to fight against it.  
Eventually I gave up. And became a person trying never to make the mistake again to actually care for something or someone. Because inevitably I would get hurt. Be abandoned. Called a 'freak'.  
I used to live quite good that way. Losing myself in work and studies. Going on and on and on, never stopping, because whenever I stop- everything comes crashing in again. And temptation and I are old acquaintances, but our collaborations never turn out well.  
Science, Music, Memories. Those were the only three entities that ruled my life for so long.  
Until the day I examined paint chips from a wooden ladder in the laboratory at St.Barts and a man walked in, leaning on his cane, eagerly offering his phone to me, not knowing who I was and what he had gotten himself into the moment he reached inside his pocket.  
Now it was Science, Music, Memories and John.

Now- I stood in front of this man, my arms tightly wrapped around him. Our mouths as close as was possible without actually touching. His breath ghosted upon my lips. I was buzzing with anticipation. And shivering from the adrenaline that my body was pumping relentlessly through my bloodstream from the depths of my kidneys spreading through my heart into every little capillary vessel of my body. Oh, what a sweet sensation!

This is when my perception of time changed again for the first time in so many years. The world slowed down into a slow motion of blurred colours and light. Faint noises. Muffled screams inside my head. For the first time in years.  
Finally.

Everything that happened after this moment would be stored in my mind palace for the small eternity that was left of my lifetime.

The first gentle touch of John Watson's lips on mine is a feeling I will never forget.  
Warm.  
Soft.  
Self conscious.  
Knowing.  
Experienced.  
The light pull of flesh as he drew away for the fraction of a second. Giving me time to process what was happening. He knows me so well.  
Returning. Again, softly pressing his mouth against mine as if he could find something there- something vital and important. I leaned in closer. He lightly sucked on my lower lip. I exhaled loudly. And then blushed.

'Oh, Sherlock.' he whispered. 'There's no need to be embarrassed. It's lovely to know that you like it. Best praise in the world.' His forehead never lost contact with mine. I could feel the words on my lips as he spoke them, we were so close.

'This is...new. Overwhelming. John, I don't know how...'

'Shhhhh. My dear. It's alright. I know. I know what you are trying to tell me. I know. Trust me.'

'I never did otherwise, John.'

'And that's one of the things I love about you. There's no need to be afraid,' he caressed my cheek. Our eyes meeting. 'we have all the time that we need. And no one’s telling us what to do or when. We can go at our own pace. A pace that is comfortable for both of us. We will explore this together, alright?' His round blue eyes ever the source of reassurance.

'Alright.' I smiled.

A grin in return from my doctor.

'Jesus, Sherlock. Your face is just so remarkable. How is it possible that there is so much skin and yet your cheekbones are so prominent? I have always wondered about that.' He chuckled and looked at my face-mezmerized.

'I suppose my facial anatomy had inevitably to be just as extraordinary as the rest of me.'

'Was that you being funny?' He smiled. How...lovely.

'Was it that bad?' I furrowed my brows playfully.

'No. Not at all. Just unexpected. It's a rare thing, you taking the time to make a funny remark. Except when Anderson is around of course. Or Sergeant Donovan.'

'John?'

'Yes?'

'Please do not mention them again when we are just about to have sex. Or almost sex. That remains to be seen.'

He stared at me blankly, his mouth hanging open. Then he literally burst out laughing in such a delightful manner, it would have been a crime against nature not to join in. Not that I had not felt the urge to laugh myself anyway.  
It took us both some moments to calm down again. But eventually we did.

And business got serious again.


	3. A rush of endorphins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rush of endorphins. My chest heaving with deep breaths. It hadn't even started yet, but my body was already thrumming with anticipation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock remembers his first experiences with his own sexuality.
> 
> Still no *real* porn, I'm sorry, but I promise to get there.  
> I am somehow not in the right mood, yet. #ohdear!
> 
> Also I hope I don't waffle too much.  
> This is probably the crappiest attempt at porn ever...

A rush of endorphins. My chest heaving with deep breaths. It hadn't even started yet, but my body was already thrumming with anticipation. Instinctively taking over before I could even consciously grab hold of the situation.  
  
I am a healthy human adult male, so the biology of sex is nothing unfamiliar.

Yet I dare not say it had been of any importance to me before now.

Expectedly I have a basic understandig of my own anatomy- my first daybreak erection had occured at the age of fourteen and naturally I had been slightly upset about it. But since I couldn't ask my father for advice anymore and my older brother Mycroft had some sort of abandoned me when he left for uni 2 years earlier, I had no choice but to resolve the problem myself.

  
The animalistic curiosity every human inherits when it comes to pleasure naturally let me know what to do. The soft weight of my duvet as it lay on my groin. The ever so light friction whenever I moved my legs.

It's an addictive sensation that drives you on for more and more and while you lose yourself inside of it completely- oblivious to time or your surroundings, your mind narrowed down to the one thing your entire body is craving for like a starved animal in bloodlust-you still retain a kind of consciousness that no other drug on the planet will grant you.

The ability to snap back to serious reality in but a few seconds only, giving you the chance to flee and survive potential danger is a unique evolutional gift that makes the entire experience so worthwhile and precious...

You get high enough on it to forget your own name as long as it lasts but not as high as to not be able to consciously nourish on every precious moment of it and to experience it with an almost vulgar intensity.  
  
My memory of this particular morning is slightly blurred. I suppose the sensory input is to blame for that. All I can recall is an overwhelming feeling of joy when I placed my fingers lightly onto my own skin. And then again. And again...

  
I found myself in the same breathdeprived state now, some twenty years later- only that it weren't my fingers but John's and they were resting on my cheek and not on my groin. Not yet.

  
I had achieved orgasm before.

Seventeen times to be precise.

Always in moments where I found myself in a state of emotional indifference and was in need of distraction or had to shift my focus on something...simple.  
Yet I never sustained such an addiction as I did with other more vicious drugs. Drugs that brought a foreign rush of chemokines into my system. Chemicals my body couldn't comprehend or my brain was unable to process. The resulting 'nothingness' in my head as it went blank like a hardrive on overload was always a happily welcomed change to the almost constant mayhem that is my every waking moment.  
Compared to them I learned on that very first occasion that the same sensations caused by orgasm only last for that little amount of time until my breath slows down, my heart rate becomes normal again and the adrenalin, serotonin and oxytocin vanish from my bloodstream.  
Not this time though.

  
This was different. John Watson as he dragged his fingertips over the skin of my cheek, down my neck (my neck! How surprisingly sensitive?) onto my heaving chest.

  
'Dear god...' he whispered. '...thank you...'

  
I stared at him blankly. My brain was already halfway shut down. The most precious but at the same time tedious part of it all. I love the silence it spreads within me, but it makes me stupid. And I detest that.

  
Fortunately John knows me better than anyone else. He's constantly getting better with his observational skills on cases. What he's really brilliant at though, is his almost frightening sense of understanding me.

So he spoke- so that I didn't have to.

  
'...for letting me live to see this. Feel this.' His hand moving upwards again. He stared, wide-eyed. Marvelled.

  
'Sherlock, you've got goosebumps on your neck.'

  
A quick burst of thoughts. I never heard that one could get them in this area of the human body. Like your wrists.

Was that even possible?

Had I missed something?

Did I need data on that?

Was I completely out of my mind??

A sexually very experienced army-doctor was moments from ripping off my clothing and giving me my first thorough orgasmic experience ever and I was dwelling on goosebumps???

  
Sometimes I feel like stepping out of my skin and slapping myself right across the face.

  
'It's obviously the effect you have on me when you do this.' I said with a hoarse voice and pointed to his other hand on my left pectoral muscle. Resting over my heart- as if trying to get a hold on it. Like he didn't already have...

  
'Well, if that is so- I wonder what happens when I do this.'

  
And with that he bowed his head, leaned in and started to lightly, ever so lightly kiss my neck.

I literally shivered with pleasure.

John's lips might be small. Thin compared to mine (which are ridiculously plush, thank you mother) but they are so...divine. An adjective I never dared to use before. Not before I met John. Superlatives are far too overused. But somehow only them do him appropriate justice.

  
He pressed his mouth onto me and began to suck-only for the sweet little moment until his lips had lost contact with my skin and only to come back a tiny bit more to the left, to the right, up to my ear.

And this is where I found myself curling my toes inside of my shoes, trying to seek hold on the steady floor of our kitchen. The wet softness of him just below my earlobe. Another rush of cold adrenalin spreading inside my chest. Beautiful.

  
I opened my mouth and moaned like a whore.

Or at least what I expect a whore to sound like judging from the telly advertisements I sometimes see at four in the morning when no one is there to notice that I actually DO enjoy watching tv sometimes.

  
This- my moan however encouraged John to take the lobe of my ear between his lips and poke and lap at it with the tip of his tongue. I nearly reached orgasm right there and then. How curious?

  
Him, sucking on my ear, breath from his nose ghosting across my over-sensitive skin, his hand resting on the crook of my neck just below, the other one placed on the back of my head, fingers playing with my hair.

How utterly curious.  
  
And then he moaned.

And I lost control.

Completely.


	4. In need of a doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'I want you.'  
> 'Then take me.'
> 
> Sherlock and John continue the process of (soon) ending up in bed together.  
> As to be expected, Sherlock analyses a lot.

John's lips.

John's tongue.

John's fingers.

Everywhere.

  
As I stumbled backwards my brain had seriously become the closest to stupid I have ever been. What a delightful change?  
He slammed me against the door of my own bedroom. The handle digging into my back. It hurt. It would certainly bruise. I didn't care for the love of god.

  
'John?'  
He 'hmmmphd' at me. Trying to be some sort of human q-tip judging by the enthusiasm with which his tongue teased my ear. I made a mental note to return the favour.  
Because  
it.  
was.  
wonderful.  
  
As odd as it was.

  
'I'm sure it is in your doctoral interest as well as your personal to tend to possible wounds of mine. Am I right?'

  
'Hmmph. Certainly. Why are you asking?' Suddenly the all concerned doctor, he regarded me closely.

  
'Because I think I obtained a bruise on my back just now. I think it would only be appropriate for you to check on it.'

  
'Sherl...' His eyes darting to my torso and back up to my face again.

  
'Oh, right. Very good. You are trying to get me to take your shirt off. Well done.' He pecked me on the cheek with a smug smile.

  
'John?'

  
'Right here.' Eyes shining with mischief.

  
'I love it when you do that, you know. I don't mind you doing that more often.'

  
'Alright. Good. I'll take a mental note of that.' He leaned back in.

  
'Please don't.' I meant it. What was the point of it if he did it on purpose? Wasn't love supposed to be spontaneous?  
'I want you to do it whenever YOU feel like doing it. Not because you feel obligated to do so.'

  
He caressed my cheek. And looked at me with a very stupid 'you are a miracle' sort of grin.  
'You are a miracle, you know?' He whispered.

  
I grinned just as foolishly. Oh, let's be stupid together like this. If I shall ever die because of some idiotic thing I do-please let it be this!

  
'For a man who has no idea of all of this, you are saying so really romantic things without being aware.'

Another kiss on my cheek.

I purred. And closed my eyes. He was so good at this.

  
'You are brilliant, John Watson.'

  
'Please call me doctor.'

And with that he started to suck on that particular point just below my ear again.

  
'Oh doctor. Tell me what's wrong with me.' My head thumped back onto the door.

  
'You are an arrogant git.'

He let go and looked at me. His eyes telling that he was teasing. Probably. Probably not. Oh what the hell! I know it's true.  
'But you are MY arrogant git and you let me do this. I still can't quite believe it.'

  
I was going to have a neck entirely covered in love bites by tomorrow morning. Something I looked forward to very much. Obviously John loved to claim me. Other people shall notice and realise that I belong to him.

Good.

Finally.

Oh, John.

  
'I surrender to your expertise, doctor. Please take care of me.'  
I whimpered playfully.

He devoured my mouth.

I did it again. Not so playful anymore, but in earnest.

  
'You are seriously driving me crazy, Sherlock.'

  
'Good.'

  
'I want you.'

  
'Then take me.'

  
The noise that he made in response was one I will always recall in moments of doubt. It was the noise of John Hamish Watson placing his heart into my clumsy hands and taking mine into his safe ones in return. The moment where I realised that I would never, in my entire lifetime let this man go again. Because I needed him.  
I needed him so much.


	5. Human flesh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flesh.
> 
> Human flesh.
> 
> Gloriously bare and soft and warm and...salty.

Flesh.

Human flesh.

Gloriously bare and soft and warm and...salty.

Of course I already knew that it would taste like that but still I was surprised that John would taste so very different than me. Naturally through out the course of my life I had happened to lick my own skin. More often once I was a child. Chocolate, icing (my sweet tooth was strongly developed early on). My own blood.

  
Never did it taste as delicious as this:  
Manly.

Not that I wouldn't be a man. Or smelled like one. If I couldn't help it. But I always considered a strict body hygiene necessary- for me at least.

John however- John could just as well never shower again for all I cared- I would lick him clean.

In the beginning of our relationship I used to be startled at such desires surfacing from deep within me. For I was not familiar with such passionate behaviour lying underneath my own conscious perception. I suppose my neverending curiosity added a great deal to help me finally break free of the chains that I had laid upon me myself so long ago-unaware as it may have been. But it was an epiphany of the greatest kind to finally experience this-and John to be here at my side as always-being the sole reason for those feelings so intense that I never seize to be overwhelmed with.

A lifetime to spend with John Watson has become more important to me than any case could ever be.

  
  
Now I was in the middle of returning the sensation of nibbling on his neck.

It turned out he was just as sensitive there as I was.

Good.

  
John, meanwhile was occupied with (rather blindly) trying to open the buttons of my favourite purple shirt.  
Admittedly I gave him quite a hard time from all I could tell of his moans.  
His moans! What they did to me!  
I had observed that my heart rate had accelerated at that very first physical contact between us.

  
Our first kiss.

  
Good lord?

  
I just had my first kiss?

  
With John?

  
In our kitchen?

  
On a wednesday?

  
Seriously my brain had obtained quite a malfunction during all this. But to happily quote Mrs.Hudson: 'what the hell.'  
As long as this didn't stop I honestly had no need for my brilliant mental abilities.

All I could think of at the moment was John's skin under my lips. My fingers searching hold in his hair. The smell of him. I experienced all this with my most primal senses. There was no need for it to be processed and analysed and picked apart. It was far too precious for that. There would be a time, surely, but the memory would have to do.

  
Now was the time to devour.

  
And devour we did.

  
He had finally freed me of my shirt and I subconciously recognised a light chill at the sudden loss of contact with the satin. But then there were fingers. Incredibly soft and gentle fingers gliding up and down my chest, over the roundings of my shoulders onto my back.

  
'Jesus Christ.' I hissed into John's neck.

  
'Like that, do you? You are so sensitive, Sherlock. So beautiful...'

  
'I can happily return the compliment, doctor.'

I nudged at the hem of his jumper. I would never look at it the same way as before. But then again- I would never be able to look at John the same way again.

Or the entire flat.

Or myself.

For a moment I panicked.

Pure autistic panic.

Stilled at the thought of so many things changing.

So many ways I could fail.

Mess this up.

Lose John.

I trembled.

  
'Sherlock. Please don't.' He said with a sigh.

  
I snapped back to reality.

  
'What?'

  
'Don't leave me out. You are worried about something. Tell me. Please.'

He placed his hands on my bare shoulders. Practically that was all I needed. And still...

  
'DAMN MY BRAIN!' I shouted.

He drew back.

Suddenly let go.

NO! No, no, no!

  
'Sorry! I...sorry. I...'

  
'Easy. I know. I know...I...Look- I'm here. I'm not leaving. Not unless you want me to. If you want me to stop, then...'

  
'NO!' I shouted. What a horrible thought. My greatest fear ever since that first night.

  
'That's exactly my problem, John. I'm afraid I know where this leads. And it won't end well. I will mess this up. And then you will leave me and I don't...' I didn't dare to look into his eyes anymore. ' I don't know if I will be able to deal with that.'

  
'For fuck's sake, Sherlock!'  He got mad. Exactly what I had expected. 'Stop talking such bullshit,  you idiot!' Okay, not exactly what I had expected.  
'Will you- just this once- stop overanalysing and just LIVE? And stop thinking you will mess this up. I'm perfectly capable of doing that as well! Look at how successful I have been in my relationships, dear god!'

  
I stared at the hands in my lap. Suddenly feeling eight years old again.

  
Then John placed his warm hands on mine.

Gently.

Oh, god...

  
'Sherlock, the single root of all of our arguments is your selfishness! When you lie to me, when you don't let me in on something. When you just don't think of the effects your behaviour will cause. All that goes back to you closing in on yourself, locking yourself in your mind palace trying to sort things out on your bloody own! We have been there, remember?'

  
I twitched at the memory.

  
'But you can't do that anymore, dear. Please don't. Don't leave me out on your worries or concerns. That's the only way I can help! I don't want to see this end-IF it ever ends, god forbid- and know that I could have done something but just didn't get the chance because you didn't let me. Please not again.'

  
There was a pause.

A long moment where I could hear John's heavy, upset breathing and the perception of myself shatter.

You idiot.

  
I finally looked up and into his eyes. I wrapped my hands around his.  
Stared.  
Stared at him for what felt like an eternity but only mere seconds in reality. Then I did what I had learned to do as a child whenever I had to apologize without words. Because I was not allowed to speak. And what I had done the last time when I had returned to John after an agonizing time spent in my grandparents home in France, hiding and burning the core out of a criminal web that took up far too much of my energy. At the end of it all I had come home almost breaking down in exhaustion and agony from missing John so much to find him just as broken and a landlady that passed out and spent three days in hospital recovering from the shock.

  
I bowed my head in a submissive gesture and leaned forward until my forehead touched his shoulder.

  
'I am sorry.' I whispered against his shirt.

  
'Shhh.' Is all he says. It's all I need.

  
I could feel the sting in my eyes. I was shocked about the intensity of my emotions. So many confusing feelings.

  
'Help me, John.'

  
'Honesty, Sherlock. That's the key. Tell me what you think and that you want to be left alone and I will let you.

Because I will understand.

Tell me what you feel and I will try to give advice, because I will probably understand that even better.

Tell me what you need and I will go and get it- make it happen.

Because I will understand.

Just don't leave me stupid. I can't always tell from the look in your eyes what's going on in that brilliant mind of yours.'

His hand came up to rest on the back of my head. Pulling me closer.  
'Please, Sherlock. Respect me as what you clearly want me to be-your friend and your lover. Your brother in arms. Your guide and your...' He looked for the right word.

  
'Everything.'

  
He pushed me back so that he could look at me.

  
'Can't you see, John?' I pleaded. A bit. I think.

  
'Oh my god. Sherlock...I'm so sorry. I didn't think...I forgot how this must feel like for you. This is your first...your very first...oh, my god.'

He looked at me in horror. He shouldn't do this. I never wanted him to look at me like this again.

  
'Stop talking.'

  
Now he looked stunned. Better.

  
'I am being honest, John. I am scared. So scared. You know me better than I do myself sometimes. You know how capable I am of fucking this up.'

I rarely swore. But it felt appropriate now. 'And just the mere thought of losing you- what we have-terminally-is simply unbearable for me. I try not to think about it, but you know how my brain works. I particularly hate it right now.'

  
John stared. His eyes as soft as I had never seen before.

  
He reached out the same instant that I did. Leaned in. Sighed. Our foreheads touched.

  
Friction.

  
Good.

  
Physical contact as reassurance.

  
Brilliant.

  
'I solemnly swear that I will be honest from now on and not let anything get between us. Not ever again.' I whispered.

  
'I solemnly swear to do the same and be patient and understanding of your inexperience.' The last bit was followed by a chuckle.

  
'John?'

  
'Yes?'

  
'Can we just shut up now and continue as planned? I found the bloodrush to my southern regions quite pleasant.'

  
'Oh you...' And suddenly there was that fire in his eyes again. 'You have no idea...'

  
'Tell me. But without words.' I closed my eyes. Awaiting happily what he would do next.

  
I gasped. Because John Watson- brilliant doctor and soldier-placed a steady hand right onto my groin.

  
Touch.

Warmth.

Peace


	6. The odour of love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With every intake of air my stomach pressed more firmly against John's and as we adapted ourselves to the same rhythm he added pressure even more so.
> 
> And pressure is a good thing when it comes to friction of erogenous skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I wrote this on my iPhone 'notes' during my holidays and just returned today but wanted to post this quickly the ending is a bit abrupt.  
> Sorry.
> 
> I promise to write more soon!

His hand on my groin- I'm incohorent to process what it did to me.

Of course there is the fact that it is a sexually erogenous zone with many nerve endings happily awaiting to be stimulated. Neurotransmitters firing signals towards my spine and up into my brain rendering it completely useless-switching into animal-mode.

Then there is the knowledge that John will be gentle, as always, and take good care of me, keeping me safe.

Biology and psychology working together- creating an experience that went far beyond my comprehension.

Too much input, far too much pleasure.

My brain short-circuited and I cried out.

  
He looked at me, eyes wide in surprise, afraid he'd hurt me. Somehow it felt like he had. Though I realised that it had in a good way.

  
'Don't...stop. Keep...going.'

  
No response. No movement.

  
'Too much sensation, I suppose, John. It's been...a while.'

  
'How long exactly, Sherlock?' He queried.

  
'Since my last orgasm? About five months. I was rather lonely in France.'

For a short moment I could see the pain flash across his face.

The memory of a time I wish to this day I could wipe from his memory.

Relieve him of it.

Both of us.

I can't.

Unfortunately.

  
'And since you last...?' He had regained his composure quickly.

We had talked it through. Very long. Very angry and very sad. I will always bear the knowledge that I almost destroyed my most precious possesion- the trust of John Watson. Luckily I turned out to actually be an enormous idiot about some things. Never lose faith in your best friend. Your lover. Although up until that point we both hardly knew what we really felt toward each other. Maybe that is the reason we both made our peace with the thing. It showed us (in the most painful way sadly) that our friendship went far beyond the general measures.Far beyond.

  
He looked at me questioningly. Oh, god. This was...

  
'I have not...not in the sense of...oh for Christ's sake! Never! All right?'

Tedious topic. Sexual experience that is.  It always irked me how much people define themselves through it. It's only sex I used to think. How wrong I had been.  
John sat back on his heels. My bed creaked a bit. When did it start to creak?  
Mental slap. Concentrate.

  
'I don't know what to say. I always thought your disinterest was based on a bad experience and that it's because I'm a man that you...I honestly don't know.'

  
'Leave it. It's no big deal.'

Why was it such a big deal? For both of us?

  
'Well it is for me, if I am the very first one...'

  
'...to fuck me?' I finished.

He looked irritated and it slowly began to dawn on me.

  
'Love you, Sherlock. I don't mean to just simply fuck you, like you're some sort of club-shag. This is precious, Sherlock. And I'm just stunned that you chose me. '

  
Why?  
'It's obvious, isn't it?'

  
'It's not obvious to me.'

  
Oh, John. Where is your self esteem?  
'Because I love you.'

I seriously had to make him see how amazing he was. What importance he had in my life.

  
'I thought you knew, judging by my previous non-existing string of lovers that you have a special meaning to me.' I caressed his cheek this time. He leaned into the touch. Gorgeous.  
'No one has ever caught my attention like you have, John. No one. Nobody has ever had the patience or interest to get to know me. I am just a freak in a suit to most people. You know that.'

  
'Not to me.'

  
'You see my point?' I smiled at him.

Took his face in both hands.

Kissed either cheek.

Looked.

Observed.

  
His hands came up to cover mine. He took hold of them and put them into his lap. He was half-hard as much as his jeans betrayed.

  
'This. I feel like this.' He pressed my hands onto his semi-erection. 'You know what this means, Sherlock?'

  
'Clearly. You want me.'

  
'I don't just want you this way though, Sherlock.'

A nudge at my hands.

Pressing on even more.

A deep exhale.

  
'I want it all. The ups and downs and all the things in between. I have once had to live without you. I won't repeat that experience. This...is the ultimate commitment for both of us. Because you...' He searched for the right word.

  
'...give you the exclusive ownership over my body and soul?'

  
'Yes. You never bothered about that part of your life. So it's the greatest gift you can make me to give me this...' I only later learned that it was by coincidence that his penis twitched at exactly that moment.  
'...part of you.'

  
'Only you. I'm not interested otherwise. I don't trust anyone else to that degree.'

  
'And that's incredible.'

  
'And biologically stupid. But since being gay in no way makes sense when it comes to procreation, it doesn't matter. You and me. That's all I want.'

  
'And that's all we will have.'

  
I placed his own hands onto my erected member.

Sharp intake of breath.

Bliss.

  
'I love you, too, Sherlock. So fucking much.'

I twitched.

Sexually speaking.

  
'I think I will not be able to form any more coherent sentences, John. Far too much blood required in more desperate areas.'

I couldn't keep the grin out of my voice. This innuendo-thing was starting to be fun.

  
'Then let's not dwell on speech any longer.'

  
He leaned forward and kissed me.

Softly.

Ever so softly.

Our lips barely making contact, leaving a craving for more.

The pressure of his lips on mine is the best feeling in the world.

Better even than the orgasms. And those are spectacular.

But kisses. There are just so many more of them.

Everyday.

Everywhere.

John's claim of ownership for everyone to see.

Sweet little reminders that he is mine.

Always will be.

And I'll be his.

No space or area for doubt.

Instant reassurance.

Commitment.

  
I remember the sharp intake of breath my brain actually required to prevent me from blacking out as he licked his lips (as he so often did, bless him) and returned to caress my mouth. Slickness is a wonderful thing.The innuendo here I certainly intended. It just hightens the senses so much more.

My upper lip.

Caught between his.

Sucked.

Caressed by the tip of his tongue.

Covered in John's spit and-yes, it sounds filthy, but in this case, when it comes to sex I learned that filthy is good.

So good.

He moved on to my lower lip. Repeated the attention he just gave its partner. The moaning returned at this stage.

And upon opening our mouths the temperature in my bedroom really must have increased by several degrees.

Our hands were everywhere. Roaming around, trying to grab hold of everything at the same time. Explore, observe, experience.

  
I finally managed to free John of his jumper. It landed on the floor as well as his shirt after I literally ripped it off his body in my new discovered sexual craze. He fell back onto the mattress and I didn't waste a second to climb on top of him.

Supported on my arms on each side of his face I sank down to kiss him again. Only this time starting an expedition over his cheeks to his ear (mental note coming in handy), down his neck- which made him moan like one of those particular women on telly and to his shoulder.

Only then did I realise that my mouth was suckling on his scar when he winced a little.

Apparently scar tissue from a bullet wound that nearly killed you is more sensitive than the ones I had aquired over the years.

I released the pressure. Placing my lips on it as gently as I could.

This was a part of John's body that would always remind me that happiness and misery were close friends and could change seats quite quickly.

Life and death.

Love and hate.

It had certainly tortured John with enormous pain but it is the reason thst got him home to mother England. And to me.

It was caused by an afghan full of hate against the intruders of his country. But it was a part of John Watson that deserved just as much love and attention as any other part of his body.

Possibly even more so.

So I caressed it.

Cautious not to get distracted until I reached a different, more responsive part of his body.

All the while as John simply lay back and let me play.

Explore.

Learn.

What a fantastic teacher he his.

 

  
  
Nipples.

Male nipples.

I never gave them much thought before.

I certainly knew that they were sensitive. The occasional friction induced by an item pressed to my chest such as a book, my violin or simply the drag of a shirt that came out of the laundry being washed a bit too hot.

It was definately a responsive part of anatomy.

Though completely without so much function for a male as to only give real pleasure when sucked.

Or licked.

Or bitten.

Which is what I-rather accidently-learned from covering John's chest in kisses.

I initially had intended to explore the hairy part of him some more as I rather lacked that particluar male feature except for a little dusting over my heart and around said nipples. It's not that John would be like a grizzly bear, but I hold a strange fascination with that hair ever since that night when I fell asleep with my head on his chest and woke up to them tickling my cheeks and lips.

  
So his nipples I learned where VERY responsive.

It went up to a point where he grabbed me by my hair, yanked my head back like a cave man and stared at me with a furious, yet vulnerable expression that I prefer to  think of as his 'almost-orgasm-face'. The point where he tried to signal me that he wouldn't be able to hold back for much longer, giving me the opportunity to catch up so to speak,  and at the same time plead for me to continue with what I am doing because he might possibly just die if I dared to leave him like this.

  
I obliged.

And moved my attention to his stomach.

Smooth, warm and delicious to lick.

John might have left the army years ago, but he still maintains a daily excercise to keep up his body shape as he used to know it from his days of active duty. Which means I have the pleasure to lick and lap and kiss and feast on a set of muscles that I can hardly find words for.

I think I worship them, somehow.

If John Watson's body were a temple containing his holy spririt- I would actually consider becoming religious.

And every day would be a sunday.

  
  
Attend to thy temple I shall forever and cherish upon thee pleasures thou givest me.

  
  
I lost myself completely in the perceptions my senses acquired.

Firm yet soft.

Salty yet sweet.

Heated skin and yet a fleeting layer of goosebumps spreading all over his body.

How delicious were my own pleasures that I derived from seeing him like this for the first time!

I had never before had the chance to see a human being in such a state and I still marvel to this day that I was chosen to be gifted with this particular sight.

  
'Sherlock, please...' He begged.

A desperation in his voice that only pushed my heated temper. His hand found the way into my hair and he would later tell me what extra-pleasures it always gives him when he can bury his fingers in my curls.

There are many occasions now that I grant him his wish.

Most of those times I not only loose quite a few of my scalp hairs but also obtain minor bruises on my knees that continue to put a smile on my face whenever I groan at crime scenes bending down to take a closer look.

  
As I reached the seam of his jeans, my hand slipped underneath with a dexterity that I had usually only reserved for my violin.

Now, I realised, was the time to play with John Watsons strings.

  
The button of his trousers was quickly opened, the zip pulled and everything yanked down and off and-after repeating those actions on my own suit bottoms -I focused my attentions entirely on the task that lay before me.

Or rather 'stood'.

  
Nakedness is nothing unfamilar for me.

I am certainly not shy about it myself and naturally John had given up any habit of that sort when he joined the army (for privacy is obviously something you have to give up as soon as you enter the camp).

So when I lay back down on top of him and for the first time we felt every inch of our bodies connect in sweetest friction we both couldn't hold back our moans as we tried to cope with so much beautiful sensation.

Skin on skin we lay and enjoyed the feeling of belonging to each other, never being close enough, never getting enough, never wanting to leave this bed in the haze of first time ever sex.

For it was the first time for both of us.

Despite the rumours and teases that John and I had to endure until that point, he had built up a reputation througout his army years that only involved women and I certainly had never so much as dared to think about anybody in that particular way.

Why would I?

Sex was (until then) just another part of transport that people give in to because of

a) the sensation of orgasm

b) the want to procreate

and c) to show affection to people that are closest to them.

Since I could easily obtain the sensation of orgasm myself and had no intention whatsoever to procreate the only reason left would have been the proof of affection.

Certainly my brother was out of question for anything exceeding a hug for his birthday and since there was no one else I ever let that close to me I didn't bother myself with a single thought about it.

But now there was John.

And suddenly it seemed that it bothered me a lot.

What was I supposed to do now that I had literally stripped ourselves of any restrictions that had been there?

I gazed into his eyes as I lay above him and found the answers to all of my questions in the look that he returned. I closed my eyes and gave us both a moment to process the feeling of our obvious affections gliding together in a mixture of sweat and precome.

Breathing is important and adds to the exitement as I learned in those precious first moments.

With every intake of air my stomach pressed more firmly against John's and as we adapted ourselves to the same rhythm he added pressure even more so.

And pressure is a good thing when it comes to friction of erogenous skin.

Our penises making the slightest movements with every expanding of our lungs and thereby creating a tortuous slow build up of sensation. We only lasted in this position for a few moments for we both grew extremly frantic and needy.

I had never before been so excited and frustrated at the same time. And yet I wanted it to last forever- childish as that longing might be.

Nothing can last forever obviously.

  
'I need...oh god, Sherlock...I need your tongue on me. Please.'

Breath ghosting across my skin as he buried his head in the crook of my neck bucking his hips up against me.

  
I happily obliged my needy soldier and shimmied down the sheets and his body to position myself right in front of thr one place I wanted to be the most.

Taking a deep breath to calm my strained nerves I caught the beautiful fragrance of passion-plain human need and arousal.

A smell that will forever be stored in my olfactory memory and that I have (on one extremly boring day) tried to recreate synthetically at Bart's- much to Mollys dismay. Not one of my brightest ideas for apparently the residual traces upon her clothes made 'Toby' run wild and hump and scratch most of her furniture in a sexually induced feline frenzy).

  
It certainly had a very similar effect on me and I happily buried my face in John's groin. And although pubic hair is much abhorred especially amongst women as I have heard, it is the source and preservation for that smell that I seek so desperately ever since.

It is the odour of love between John and me and will never seize to give me unending comfort in times of distress.

One of nature's major achievements to ascertain the continuity of human existence.

Olfactorial bonding to ones mate.

Though a concept of monogamy, which is evolutionary redundant, I cannot find myself to disagree with the purpose and joy's of it.

I will never love another person the way I adore John.

And I am not in the least interested in anybody else's scent.

As much as the Woman might want me to.

  
My hand snaked up onto his thigh and I continued my torturing of John by rubbing small circles all over it.

Then finally-finally I placed my fingers on his erection and again- the sounds that I derived from my ever so steady soldiers filled me with a warmth that nothing else will ever be able to induce.

His penis felt not much different from mine, although the shape was slightly broader. Just like me John had been circumsized at some point in his life and I marvelled at the prominent sight of his glans. The texture so different from the rest of it, I curiously attempted to explore that difference more thoroughly with my tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to be continued.


	7. This time, for real.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Sherlock...'
> 
> It was all I needed.
> 
> This and his hand still on my head. Fingers still tangled in my hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter of this story that started with just a song in my head and ended with the praise and comments of some lovely people, that make me want to go on writing as long as inspiration is on my side.
> 
> Again I'd like to thank Atlin for inspiring me to start this whole writing thing- I hope you enjoyed it and maybe I can read some of my future stories to you face to face in a nice little flat in London :) Let's see!

Smooth.  
Hot.  
Slick.  
  
Three words, that- for themselves might not be very appealing, yet in combination they guarantee an instant change of ones entire mood.

Body temperature rises, blood vessels dilate whilst pressure rises.

General sharpening of all senses, especially the skin due to increased bloodflow in particular areas.

Tingling feelings of arousal.

Heavy intakes of breath.

Dryness of the mouth.

More moisture in other regions.

  
In summary:

the essence of life.

The chemistry of love.

 

  
I have studied chemistry intensly, and while the general functions and processes are clear to me as daylight, I fail to grasp the combined meaning.

I suppose I simply lack the understanding of the psychological component. A field of 'science' I never took much interest in.

I decided to do so now.

For John's sake.

To make him happy.

And proud.

  
I also planned to do some research on fellatio.

Clearly I knew what feels good and what not from experiences of my own hand. But I had never enjoyed the pleasures of another persons tongue on my skin, yet this particular part of my body.  
I wondered how intense it must feel for John as I dragged my tongue slowly along the entire length of him.

Enjoying the taste and smell I lost myself in the habit of just simply licking.

Top to bottom.

Bottom to top.

Along the sides.

Over the slightly rougher skin covering his testicles.

Feeling the heat of his pleasures on my skin was...I fail to find a word that would do it justice.

Again divinity comes to my mind but still I believe there must be a word more appropriate. Better describing what almost unbearable feelings of joy it gives me to be able to do this.

Make him feel this way.

Whisper my name first- and then shout it.

Rendering him helpless- hands searching for purchase unable to stay calm and finally finding their way into my hair. Fingers tugging and yet caressing at the same time until fists clench, panting turns into screaming and muscles reach their ultimate state of rigor.

  
Rigor coitus.

  
What a beautiful term.

Scientific and yet describing something that is inexplainable.

  
It's what I give to him.

Rigor coitus.

La petit mort.

  
As I closed my lips around his tip for the first time.

Drew out my breath.

Made him shiver once more.

Looked up to find his eyes closed.

Face twisted in concentration to comprehend the firework inside of his head. Innuendo intended.

  
His eyes suddenly snapping open because I found myself distracted at the sight, doing nothing.

  
'Sherlock...' Dazed. Desperate. Adorable.

  
I removed my mouth.

He whimpered.

Tugging at my hair once more.

I closed my lips around him again and sucked lightly. For I knew it was called 'suck off' for a reason.

He almost hit me in the exact wrong place to be hit as a very aroused man as he kicked out his legs in surprise.

Again I retreated.

And returned, this time holding both of his legs down with my hands. He was trapped underneath my grip. Entirely at my mercy and as I realised that this exactly only added to his pleasures I knew what kind of man John Watson is when it comes to sex.

The same as me, as I had yet to learn.

  
Dominant- but with a longing to be dominated.

So that you can fight.

And wriggle and overwhelm.

Get the upper hand, teasingly switching positions again and again in an attempt to prolong the experience and the pleasure until finally your fuse breaks and you turn into the wild animal that you are deep down inside. Your sole aim being completion, the sensation of orgasm that begins by flooding your body like tidal waves of bliss finding it's peak in a clench of muscles, a complete paralysis of movement and an almost agonizing firework of dopamin and serotonin shooting through your body, attacking every single nerve and giving you a feeling of relief that is uncomparable to any other sensation you can ever experience.

And I have tried a few others.

They all fail to compete.

  
As I was swallowing down John's penis I couldn't help but hum like a bee. His pleasures transferring into me as if we were actually connected through the touch of my mouth on his skin. He moaned over and over and I picked up a rythm that was both comfortable for me and fast enough for him. We continued like this for several minutes until he became restless and was no longer able to utter my name. Instead I was gifted with the sound of hungrily drawn breath, muttered 'oh god's' and 'mmmh's' and the repeated confirmation of my abilities of 'yes!'  
  
'Yes! Yes! Yes!'  
  
His hips starting to buck into my mouth. Trying to get more, always more, going deeper and faster until I nearly choked.  
  
'Oh god!'  
  
I swirled my tongue around the tip. Slightly scraped my teeth over it, more by accident than anything else.  
He liked it though.  
He liked it very much.

  
So I did it again.

And again.

And as I could feel his hand in my hair beginning to clench I swallowed him down once more- the entire length of him and was barely digging my nose into his pubic hair when he came with a strength that took me completely by surprise. He screamed out and his release shot against the back of my throat, covering it in a sticky mixture of come and spit- and it was glorious.  
He pumped and pulsed between my lips and I heavily drew in one breath after another, panting, not quite believing that we just did this.

That I caught John's most intimate essence.

That he shared it with me and it had given him so much pleasure that he could hardly calm down even after minutes.

At least I think it were minutes. My perception of time was still addled I was so caught up in the moment.

And then he brought me over the edge without as much as touching me.  
Simply by saying my name.  
But in a way that is the unique language only spoken between lovers. A breathless, almost moan-like whisper that sends goosebumps down your spine because it is so soft, so gentle.

So vulnerable.  
Precious.

  
'Sherlock...'

  
It was all I needed.

This and his hand still on my head. Fingers still tangled in my hair.

I was hit by my own orgasm so suddenly and with such an intensity that I screamed out, buried my face once more in John's groin and as I shouted his name in desperation, clawing my fingers into his thighs and biting down on his belly **I finally realised for once and forever that this must never end.**

  
 **For whatever happens- this is without a doubt the single most important thing in my life.**

  
**Being with John.**

  
**The only thing that is worth fighting for.**

**Worth to go through hell to keep it alive.**

  
**Worth to die for.**

  
**For John.**  
  
 **I would die for you, my beloved.**

**Again.**

  
  
**This time, for real.**


End file.
